Falling
by MiddleEarthSherlockian
Summary: My account of what would have happened if John had to make the fall. Rated T just in case.
1. Prologue

There was an almost unbearable silence in the morgue of St. Bart's Hospital. A chair, once occupied by the most genius man in London, now sat cold and empty. The microscope on the table, slightly worn from extensive use, was now dusty. Another chair sat beside it, where a former soldier once sat.

For once in a long while, the door to the room opened and a girl walked through. Her brown eyes scanned the room sadly. Molly Hooper walked over to Sherlock and John's abandoned chairs.

"Oh Sherlock…" She starts to cry. Quickly she attempts to wipe away the tears. She had promised herself to move on but it's so hard.

"Oh you two... why did you _both_ have to die?"


	2. Chapter 2, MY suicide?

_**Six months earlier…**_

Sherlock's phone rang, the sound echoing around the lab where he and John sat. He sighed and looked at the screen before lazily answering it.

"Hello? Yes. Oh. Reaaaaaaaaly." He said, very sarcastically. "No she isn't. Nice try." Sherlock hung up.

"Who was it?" John asked.

"Oh nothing, some stupid person trying to convince me that Mrs. Hudson was shot. Obviously a fake call." He said nonchalantly, putting the phone back in his pocket. There was a quiet knock on the door and Molly peeked in.

"Sherlock can you, um help me with something? It'll only take a minute or two." She asked.

"Of course." Sherlock stood up and went out the door with Molly, leaving John alone in the lab. He sighed. It was very quiet for a few moments, and then John's phone rang. He answered.

"Hello? Yes. Right. And you're sure there's no other way…okay. I'll be up in a few." John hung up sadly. Sighing, he got up and left the lab. Little did he know, that he was not to return there for over two years.

 _Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother you're stayin alive, stayin alive_

 _Uh uh uh uh stayin alive, stayin alive_

 _Uh uh uh uh stayin aliiiiiiiiiiiiiive woo!_

John stepped onto the roof of St. Bart's Hospital. Jim Moriarty himself was sitting on the edge of the roof, the song playing from his phone. He looked up upon hearing the door close. A smirk grew on his face as he shut off the song.

"Well well well, here at last." Moriarty said as he stood up. "Wasn't so sure if you were coming." John cautiously walked over to where Jim was sitting. "No need to be scared Watson, _I'm_ not going to hurt you."

"I was in the war, why do you think I would be afraid of you?" John said. Jim just laughed.

"Because I know that you are." Jim clasped his hands behind his back.

"What do you want? Why did you call me? Why not Sherlock?" John asked. The wind was strong up on the roof, he noticed, his eyes were stinging from the rush of cold air.

"Oh believe me, I would have called old Sherly but admit it, he would have tried to outsmart me. That might not have ended very well for me. Besides, you have more…how shall I put it? Importance." Jim was walking in circles around John now, which was a very unsettling experience.

"Importance?" John scoffed. "You're saying that _I'm_ more important than the most genius man alive?"

"Well…yes. In most cases that is exactly what I'm saying. Now listen to me. I personally can't kill Sherlock without taking my own life. Besides, just killing him or making him commit suicide, it's all well and good but just not big enough. Not grand enough." Jim stopped circling, stopping right in front of John's face.

"What do you mean? Stop playing riddles and tell me what you called me here for."

"I thought you already knew?" Jim paused and then smiled. "Oh right. You're not Sherlock. You're stupid, just like everybody else. You're here for your suicide of course."

This took a moment for John to register. _His_ suicide. He hadn't even come close to considering this for months, ever since his new life began with Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson. Sure, he had had many suicidal thoughts after the war, but now…

" _My suicide?"_ John whispered. Jim was right.

He was scared.


	3. Chapter 3, the phone call

"Yes. Do I need to explain it all to you or can you just pop off the roof like a good little soldier?" Jim asked.

"Give me one reason why I should do what you say." John said firmly.

"How about I give you multiple reasons? First of all, I have my men pointing their weapons at your friends, and they're just waiting for me to give the order. As soon as I give the signal," Jim made a slicing motion across his neck.

"Sherlock?"

"Oh yes. Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, Molly,"

"Everyone?"

" _Everyone._ There's no stopping them now. _"_

There was a pause. "Also," Jim added. "If you're thinking of killing me as the only way to save them without you dying, well, that won't work."

"And why not?"

Moriarty leaned in so close to John's face, he was only inches away. "Because." He whispered. John tried to lean back a little. "I have backup and you believe me when I tell you this: They aren't afraid to kill your friends." Jim turned around and walked over to the edge of the roof. "Now can we get this over with already?"

John just stood there for a moment. Then he started to laugh.

"WHAT?" Moriarty yelled. " _WHAT DID I MISS?"_

"Ah. You're just like Sherlock. You missed the simplest thing." John smiled. "I don't need to kill you. I don't need to die and neither do any of my friends."

Jim smirked. "Oh really?"

"Yes. Really. If I killed you, your men would fire. But they are just waiting for your order. If you don't tell them to kill anyone, they probably won't."

"Well. Wow! I must say that was a smart piece of detective work. And, um, you're right." Jim looked down and held out his hand. "You're right." He nodded. Tentatively, John took his hand and Jim shook it. "So as long as I'm alive you can save your friends. Well good luck with that."

 _ **BAM**_

John fell back in shock just as Moriarty fell to the ground, dead. He had shot himself.

John stared in shock, breathing heavily. After a moment, he slowly walked over to the edge of the building and looked down. He could see Sherlock just coming out of the building. John took a deep, shaky breath and pulled out his phone, dialing Sherlock's number while watching the figure far below answer the phone.

"Hello John?" Sherlock said on the other end of the line.

"Sherlock."

"What? What is it, why are you calling? Where are you?" Sherlock asked as he hailed a cab.

"No no don't do that." John said hurriedly. Sherlock's hand went down.

"Where are you?"

"Stand right where you are, turn around and look up." Sherlock did as John told him.

"Oh my God." He whispered. "What are you doing up there?"

"Nevermind that. Sherlock," John turned to look at Jim's body. "Moriarty, he's um, he's dead. Tell Lestrade to look for three or more men with guns, near Baker Street and in the hospital. "

"How? When? What kind of guns? John I'm coming up,"

" _No stay_ right where you are. _Don't move."_ John was starting to cry.

"Okay okay."

"Listen, I…thank you. For everything. Tell everyone you know, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, tell them thank you. Tell them I'm sorry."

"John what are you doing?!" Sherlock's voice was urgent.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. I have to do this. I have no choice."

" _John. Whatever you're about to do_ DON'T DO IT!" Sherlock's eyes were wide with fear. Actual, cold fear. He was gripping the phone so hard his knuckles were white.

"Goodbye Sherlock."

"Oh God no JOHN!"


	4. Chapter 4, never the same

**Sorry about the long time between updates ;-;**

 **Okay okay I got you guys' pms and I apologize for the angst I have caused. I also apologize because it's about to get a heck of a lot worse.**

John's phone was dropped and clattered on the pavement of the roof. He took a deep breath and then felt nothing but air rushing past him and a pit in his stomach. He was falling, down down down.

"No…" Sherlock whispered. Time seemed to slow down as he watched his best friend fall and then land on the ground. He stood still in shock for a few moments, then started to run towards John's body. Already, dozens of people were crowding around him, obscuring John from Sherlock's view.

 _ **BAM**_

Sherlock was slammed into the ground by a young man riding a bike, who quickly rode off. Sherlock got up and ran over to the growing crowd.

"Let me-please let me through he's my friend…" Sherlock pushed his way through the crowd. There, on the ground, was John. His strawberry blonde hair was soaked in the blood that was pooled on the pavement.

"Oh God no, _please_ no…"

Sherlock didn't remember much of what happened after that, medics came and took John away in a stretcher.

 _It's all a bad dream,_ Sherlock kept telling himself. _Just another one of your horrible dreams. You'll wake up, you always do._ But it was real. It was all so horribly real.

****  
 _ **A week after the fall  
**_ ****

 _Knock knock knock._ "Sherlock? Are you in there? You need to come out sometime." Mrs. Hudson's voice floated through the locked door to Sherlock's flat. After a few moments, she heard shuffling footsteps, a lock turning and then the door opened for the first time in six days.

"Oh Sherlock…you look horrible!" Mrs. Hudson said quietly.

Sherlock was wearing a dark blue jacket and jeans that he had obviously slept in for multiple nights. He was already noticeably skinnier, and there was a faint tinge of alcohol to his breath. His eyes were red, puffy and lifeless, his hair was a mess and there was uneven stubble on his face.

"Sherlock you need to eat." Mrs. Hudson said, her voice cracking a bit. "I can't see you like this."

"Well then what do you want to see me as?" Sherlock's voice was very hoarse, as if he hadn't uttered a thing the whole time he had been in his flat.

"Anything but this. Mrs. Hudson took Sherlock's cold hand. "Come on down I'll get you some tea to soothe your throat."

"I don't want to _soothe_ anything." Sherlock said harshly. He slammed the door shut.

"Sherlock you always used to come to me for anything. Your dreams, when somebody died, when Moriarty-"

" _Yes well things aren't exactly the same now are they?"_


	5. Chapter 5, I can't do it

_Knock knock._ Lestrade lightly knocked on the door to Sherlock's flat.

"Sherlock?"  
"Lestrade." Sherlock opened the door. Lestrade's eyes widened.

"My God man…you look-"

"Horrible I know. What do you want?" Sherlock leaned against the doorframe, his shoulders sagging.

"Sherlock you know why I'm here. John's funeral."

Sherlock looked at Lestrade, his grey face emotionless. "I can't go Greg. I can't do it." Lestrade was quiet.

"Sherlock…I'm so sorry. But you have to at least try to start back up again. You haven't eaten in a week. You're obviously taking drugs and drinking. You need to stop."

"Stop _what?_ Moriarty? He's dead. John _died_ because of him. And I did nothing. I fell for their stupid distraction plan. It's my fault. Moriarty knew he could get to me through John and now look what happened." Sherlock was crying now.

Lestrade didn't know what to say. Mrs Hudson came up the stairs at that moment, her expression very sad.

" _He isn't going."_ Lestrade whispered to Mrs Hudson. She nodded.

"Not that I'm surprised."

 **Ugh. Next chapter is almost done, will be out soon 3**


	6. Chapter 6, I don't know what to do

_Right After John's Funeral._

Sherlock stepped up to John's shiny grey grave. He sighed and cleared his throat.

" _Ehm,_ ah. Well. That didn't go very well now did it?" He laughed a little. "Um, I don't know what to say. Just, thank you. Thank you, so much. I was so alone, I blocked everyone out, I had no friends. Then you came along and-" Sherlock paused to take a shaky breath. "You taught me how to live. How to have friends but still be myself. Thank you." He was quiet for a moment. A gentle breeze blew through the trees, blowing a few leaves off.

"I'm sorry. What happened…never should have happened. You were my best friend, and…I don't know what I'm going to do now that you're gone." Sherlock walked over and placed his hand on the cold stone.

"Sherlock? I thought you weren't coming!" Sherlock sniffed and turned around to see Molly standing there, wearing a simple black dress with her hair pulled into a ponytail.

"Oh Molly. How could I not?"


	7. Chapter 7, Mycroft

Mycroft knocked sharply on the door of Sherlock's flat. Three quick raps. Sherlock answered the door after a few moments.

"What is it Mycroft?" He questioned tiredly. Mycroft leaned on his umbrella.

"We need to talk."

It was almost a month after John's death, and Sherlock was looking slightly better. He had started eating again and his breath no longer smelled of alcohol. He poured a steamy cup of tea for his brother and handed it to him.

"How are you doing?" Mycroft asked, sipping his tea. Sherlock shrugged.

"Better." He replied, taking a sip of his own tea. "And since when do you care?" Mycroft set his cup down.

"Despite our…troubles, I _do_ care about you. I don't want this getting out of control." Sherlock scoffed.

"You don't want _what_ to get out of control?"

"You know what. I'm glad to see you looking better today."

Sherlock set his own cup down and clasped his hands together. "Looks are deceiving Mycroft, you of all people should know that." Mycroft smirked.

"Yes of course. Well I was just checking in on you. I have a meeting to attend to at three. See you later, thanks for the tea by the way." Mycroft stood up, grabbed his umbrella, and walked briskly out of the flat. Sherlock watched him go and sighed.

 **Sorry super short chapter woah. Working on next one, it will be out before Sunday. Thanks guys 3**


	8. Chapter 8, looking up

**So much for out before Sunday…**

Eventually Sherlock got around to solving cases again. Molly came with him and helped, but it wasn't the same as John. The cases weren't as exciting anymore, they were just another job to finish, another murderer to catch.

Sherlock and Molly walked into a busy vet's office. Various drugs were being from the office's stores, starting about a month ago. It had gotten so out of hand that they had had to call in Sherlock. He looked at Molly and nodded. She went up to the front desk as Sherlock walked around examining the lobby.

There were four people sitting in the room: an elderly man with a large St. Bernard, a woman in her mid-thirties holding a grey cat, a mother and her son with a parrot, and a young girl with two dogs. One was large and black with curly hair, and the other was smaller with straight blonde fur. Sherlock paused and stared at the dogs for a moment. He walked over to the owner.

"Hello," he said. "May I pet your dogs?"

"Oh sure!" The girl said. Sherlock knelt down and stroked the two dogs. The girl watched him closely.

"My name's Ellen." She said.

"The name's Sherlock." He said, not looking up from the dogs.

Ellen was quiet for a moment. "What kind of dog did you have?" She asked. Sherlock looked up.

"Irish Setter." He replied. "How did you know?"

"The way you treat the dogs. You're sad, but you still remember everything about them." Sherlock smiled a little.

"You're smart." Was all he replied as he rubbed behind the black dog's ear.

"You're alone." Ellen replied.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You lost a friend. A good one. I can see it in your eyes." She said softly. Sherlock looked down at the little blonde dog, who was happily licking his hand. At that moment Molly walked over.

"Alright I told them you were here, she said you can come in the back when you're ready." Molly said. Sherlock stood up.

"Thank you." He said to Ellen. "I live at 221B Baker Street, you should come over sometime."

Ellen smiled. "I will."

"Well that was incredibly easy." Sherlock said. The pair were walking out of the office, having solved the case in less than an hour. It turned out that one of their most trusted employees was taking the drugs for themselves.

"Yes it was." Molly replied. "So, are we going back to the flat?" Sherlock didn't hear her. He stopped abruptly and looked across the street past the cars. There was a short man standing there, wearing a black jacket.

It was John.


End file.
